‘What do you have there, Tom?’ the angel lady said. Her voice sounded like a song. Instead of running her words together like most people did, she said them separately as if she was rolling each one around on her tongue.
‘I findem in the bush, Ma’am. Ankle hurt real bad.’
‘Oh dear. The poor boy. Take him to the stables and make up a bed there. I will send Mary to bathe him. He looks filthy.’
‘Yes, Ma’am. And piccaninny has dog. You want me tie him up?’
The lady looked at Fisher, who hadn’t moved from the horse’s side.
‘Do you think he is a sheep killer, Tom? He is big,’ the angel lady said.
‘Please don’t hurt him,’ Poppy said, lifting her head weakly. ‘He won’t harm your sheep …’
The angel lady looked at Poppy and smiled.
‘Dog quiet fella, Ma’am.’
‘Just watch him around the horses then. If he is quiet he can sleep with the boy.’ She stepped forward. ‘Where is your family?’ she asked Poppy in a gentle, soft voice.
‘There’s … there’s just my brother and me.’ Poppy felt faint with the effort of talking and sank back against Tom.
‘We will talk later,’ the angel lady said, patting Poppy’s knee. ‘Go on now, Tom.’ She then turned and walked into the house, her dress rustling like leaves in the night.
Tom carried Poppy down a stone path around the side of the house. It felt nice to be carried. She opened her eyes. The house and the whole world was upside down. They passed a pair of double doors opening onto the verandah. Filmy white curtains billowed like a pair of angel’s wings. And under those white spread wings there appeared the face of a girl with fair hair and the bluest eyes Poppy had ever seen.
Those eyes grew wide with surprise as they looked into Poppy’s own, but then they were gone. Tom had turned a corner, and the house was retreating behind them. She struggled to sit up in the man’s arms.
‘You want to walk, eh?’ he said and stopped to put her down. But Poppy couldn’t take one step on her bad leg. Tom grunted and picked her up again.
He half carried her around to the back of the house and through an opening in a stone wall that lead into a large courtyard.
‘Is that lady the owner?’ Poppy asked.
‘Yes, she Mrs Bell,’ he said.
‘And the girl?’
There was no answer.With his shoulder, Tom pushed open a door to a large building. It smelt of hay and horses and warmth. A black horse with a white blaze pushed its head forward over the half door.They stopped for a moment.
‘That horse, he name Gideon. He a sulky fella,’ Tom said, respect in his voice.
The horse eyed Poppy suspiciously.
Tom looked down at Fisher who was keeping close to his leg and gave him a pat.
At the end of the stable was a small room. Tom took Poppy inside and placed her on a bed.
‘You stay ’ere,’ he said and left.
Poppy lay still, not wanting to move. On one wall were several black-and-white drawings – silhouettes of birds, kangaroos and men dancing and hunting. Poppy thought they were beautiful, dreamlike. Looking into them seemed to ease some of the pain.
Tom came back and set a basin of water down on top of a box.
‘This gonna hurt,’ he said. ‘Lay back now.’
Poppy gritted her teeth.
POPPY took a deep breath. Then she felt Tom rip her trouser leg. ‘They was ruined anyhow,’ she heard him mumble.
Pain shot through Poppy’s body and she gripped the sides of the bed as he bathed her ankle in warm water. It was unbearable, but she didn’t cry out. She was supposed to be a boy, and boys are supposed to be brave. Then she smelt a bitter odour and felt something cool and soft, like wet leaves being placed around the wound. The throbbing slowly eased and instead of the burning, she now felt a tingling sensation extend up her leg.
After Tom bandaged her ankle he stood up. ‘I work now. Miss Mary, she come give you a wash.’ He patted Fisher and left.
Poppy liked Tom. No, it was more than that. She felt a warmth towards him she couldn’t explain.Was it because he was Aboriginal too? She wondered how he felt about her. She was neither black like he was, nor white like Mrs Bell, nor yellow like Johnny the Chinese peddler. She was someone in between.
Footsteps approached. A solid lady came into the room, a white apron wrapped around her grey dress. She was carrying a bucket of water. When she saw Fisher she took a step back. ‘He won’t bite, will he?’
Poppy shook her head.
‘Good,’ cos I’m told you’re in need of a wash.’ She looked down at Poppy and frowned. ‘My, it’s a wonder you haven’t scared the horses with the smell of you!’ She set the bucket on the dirt floor. ‘I am Mary, Miss Mary to you, Summerhill’s housekeeper. Now off with your clothes.’
Poppy didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t let Mary see her without clothes on – she was supposed to be a boy.
‘You speak English, don’t you, child?’
Poppy nodded.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Take off your clothes before they walk out of here by themselves. Or do you want me to do it for you?’
Poppy crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Very well, then, do it yourself. But hurry up.’
Poppy took off her jacket and unbuttoned her shirt.
‘I meant everything.’ Mary frowned.
There was no way out of it. Poppy’s face reddened as she slid under the blanket and took off the rest of her clothes, carefully pulling the trouser leg over her injured ankle.
‘Now what do you have to be so modest about?’ Mary laughed. ‘Here,’ she said, handing Poppy a wash cloth. ‘Make sure you wash behind your ears.’ Then she shoved Poppy’s old clothes into a sack and bustled out of the room.
Poppy sighed with relief. She felt Fisher’s wet nose touch her hand, reminding her that he was there. She leaned over the side of the bed and hugged him, burying her face in his fur. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for saving my life, Fisher, darling.’
After washing and drying herself the best she could, Poppy snuggled beneath the blanket. But she couldn’t sleep. She was worried about finding Gus before her birthday, before he came looking for her at Bird Creek. But how can I do that now with my ankle as bad as it is? She groaned.
There was a small glass windowpane in the wall beside the bed. Through it Poppy could see grey clouds swimming across the sun.
She let her body sink into the mattress and was about to close her eyes when a face appeared in the glass.
It was that girl from the house!
Moments later, the girl opened the door, her eyes sparkling.
‘So, you’re the boy Tom found caught in the trap,’ she said. ‘I was thinking. Maybe you’re really a forest sprite that has changed into a human. Are you? Mary said you don’t talk. I thought you might be magic.’
‘I can talk …’ Poppy said.
‘Oh, so you are real, not magic at all.’ The girl seemed disappointed. ‘Just another boy like my brother. There are too many of those already.’ She flung a bundle of clothing down on the end of the bed. ‘Here. These are some old clothes of Joe’s. Mother told me to bring them over. It must have been horrid to have your leg caught in that beastly trap. All traps are cruel, don’t you think?’ The girl looked at Poppy as she lay in bed. ‘How old are you?’
‘Eleven.’
‘The same as me!’
‘How old is your brother?’ Poppy asked, still trying to decide if she liked this girl. She did talk a lot.
Boredom entered the girl’s voice. ‘We’re twins, except that I’m five minutes older. Joe hates that. He’s always trying to be better, show that he isn’t the younger one, but, well, a fact’s a fact,’ she ended brightly. ‘Can’t change the facts, as Father likes to say.’ She stopped and knitted her brows. ‘But now there are two of you, two boys. It’s two against one.That’s no good.’
&
nbsp; Poppy wanted to say, No, don’t worry, I’m not a boy, I’m on your side! But of course that would not do. She had to keep up her disguise. Word may have got out about an Aboriginal orphan girl who had escaped from Bird Creek.
The girl sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Poppy earnestly. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I met you first. Why don’t you be my friend? We can be friends even though you’re a boy, can’t we?’
Poppy wanted to shout Yes, but her mind was getting confused. The wound had begun to throb again, and she felt hot. She looked down and was silent. That’s when she noticed a book in the girl’s hand. Poppy cocked her head to one side trying to read the words on the cover. ‘Great Ex … pec … tations.’
‘You can read?’ the girl said, surprised.
Poppy nodded.
‘My grandpa sent me all three volumes from England for my birthday.’ The girl sat down on the bed, placing the book in her lap. ‘It’s by Charles Dickens. I’ve read lots of his books, Oliver Twist, David Copperfield … but this is his latest.’
‘I love to read too. But I haven’t heard of Charles Dickens.What’s it about?’ Poppy asked, happy to find someone who liked books as much as she did.
‘Well, it’s about an orphan boy called Pip. I’ve nearly finished the first volume, only a few pages to go.’ She turned her head when she heard someone calling. ‘Oh fiddle. That’s Mrs Pritchard, our governess. I have to go to my lessons.’ She leapt to her feet. ‘Here, you can borrow it until I come back. The first chapter is really scary, so don’t read it after dark.What’s your name, anyway?’
‘Kal,’ Poppy replied.
‘Mine’s Noni, which is short for Norah. Oh, and I like your dog. Goodbye.’
Poppy watched Noni leave and smiled. It suddenly felt warm in the small, airless room.
She sat up, struggling to put on the clothes Noni had brought for her.
Then her eyes fell on the book with its brown leather cover and gold lettering. Poppy’s fingers trembled as she brought it up to her face. Yes, there it was – the same delicious smell of Mother Hangtree’s library. She opened to the first page and began to read. My father’s name being Pirrip …
But she didn’t get to the scary part, for she fell fast asleep, the book lying open on her tummy. Poppy dreamt she was floating in a paddock filled with books that reached the clouds. But suddenly the ground opened like a huge gaping mouth and she was being swallowed. She was falling and screaming out to Fisher to jump. But he stood at the top of the hole barking desperately.
All of a sudden the barking seemed closer and she felt something prodding her. She opened her eyes, thankful that it was only a dream.
But the boy sitting on an upside-down bucket wasn’t a dream. He was real and poking her with a broken hoe handle while Fisher stood by the bed, snarling at him.
‘I thought you were dead,’ the boy said, aiming the hoe handle like an imaginary gun at Fisher and firing.
Poppy struggled to sit and narrowed her eyes at the rude boy while she laid a calming hand on Fisher’s head.This must be Joe.
‘Those are my clothes you’re wearing,’ Joe sneered.
‘Your mother said I could have them.’
‘Well, nobody asked me.’
Poppy didn’t say anything. What was she supposed to do? Take them off and give them back?
‘Never mind,’ Joe said, airily. ‘I give you permission to wear them.’
He looked as if he had won some sort of victory because he suddenly changed demeanor and leaned forward. ‘Say, were you really caught in a dingo trap? How did it happen? It must have hurt.’
Hurt? Of course it hurt. What a stupid thing to say, thought Poppy.
‘Well?’ Joe asked. ‘How did you get caught by the trap?’
‘I was running away from …’ Poppy stopped.
‘Running away?’ Joe’s eyes widened. ‘Are you wanted by the law?’
Poppy was horrified. This was too close to the truth.
Joe sat back, crossing his arms. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me, boy,’ he said, emphasising the word ‘boy’. ‘By the way, Mother had Mary make some food for you.’ He gestured toward the end of the bed at two covered pots.Then he stood up, knocking over the bucket he’d been sitting on. ‘Tom told me you won’t be going anywhere for a few weeks, not with that ankle, not until it heals. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.’ Joe smirked, gave Poppy a mock salute and sauntered from the room.
His words left her in a sweat. She couldn’t stay in this place a few weeks. Already that nasty boy was suspicious of her. She tried to stand but pain shot through her injured ankle. It was no use. She fell back on the bed and buried her head in the pillow.
OVER the next few days Poppy’s ankle improved enough that she could hobble around the homestead, slowly, with the aid of a stick. She was determined to get better and continue her journey to find Gus and get away from that troublesome Joe. Since arriving at Summerhill, Joe had been horrible to Poppy, goading her with more and more questions. Everyone else had been very good to her, though, and Mr and Mrs Bell had even let her eat with the twins in Miss Mary’s kitchen with its pale blue walls and wobbly stone floor. Poppy had told the family she had been on her way to meet her brother in the goldfields. But then she got caught in the dingo trap. As soon as she was well again she would continue her journey. Thankfully they didn’t ask any more questions.
Poppy loved the warm kitchen. There was a table with six chairs, and a tall cupboard stacked with blue-and-white china plates. Hams wrapped in white cloth hung from the rafters along with cooking pots and dried herbs. The hearth had a huge oven, where there was always something cooking.
After a big breakfast with Noni one morning, Poppy and Fisher took a walk.They came upon a yard full of speckled hens. A large black-and-red rooster spread its wings wide and crowed loudly in challenge. Fisher readied himself to spring.
‘No!’ Poppy yelled and threw herself over him.
Just then Joe stepped around the corner. ‘Looks like your mongrel needs a muzzle,’ he snorted.
‘He’s fine,’ answered Poppy, stroking Fisher’s head.
‘Or maybe he should be tied up.’
‘I said he’s fine.’ Poppy struggled to stand, and looked around for her stick. She’d flung it away when she had dived for Fisher.
It was by Joe’s feet but he didn’t make a move to pick it up. She hopped over on her good leg, and bent down, feeling as though she was bowing low in front of him.
‘Well, we’ve had to shoot more than one wild dog. Another would be no trouble,’ he said, looking down on her.
Poppy straightened and looked him in the eye.When she spoke it was low and controlled.
‘You listen here, Joe Bell.Your family has taken me in and I’ m thankful for that and I’ll be going as soon as I can walk. But any more talk about shooting my dog and you’ll have me to deal with.You hear?’
Joe’s eye twitched. For a moment he was silent. Then he said, ‘There’s something strange about you. But don’t worry, I’ll find out what it is.’ He turned and walked towards the stables.
Poppy took deep breaths to calm herself. She had to be extra cautious when Joe was around, which was becoming increasingly difficult.
She continued her walk with Fisher and came to the big house, to the verandah with the double doors and the filmy white curtains like angels’ wings. She smiled when she saw Noni inside. Noni was wearing a pale blue dress with a big bow in her hair and she was standing at a table playing with a beautiful miniature house that looked exactly like Summerhill.
‘Hello,’ Noni said, looking pleased to see Poppy. ‘I want to show you my dollhouse.’
There was miniature furniture – chairs, beds, cabinets and tables. And tiny silver knives and forks. Noni introduced the people that lived inside. A mother and father and two children. How Poppy longed for a home with Gus, a place where nobody would boss them around or send them away.
Noni looked at her. �
��Is something the matter? You look so sad.’
‘I was thinking of Gus.’ Poppy had told Noni only some things about him.
‘You’ll see him soon,’ Noni said, comfortingly.
Poppy nodded, on the verge of tears. But she pressed her lips together, wrapping up her sad thoughts and locking them away.
The two girls were chattering and moving dolls and furniture from one room to the other when Joe passed the verandah doors. He stopped and stared in amazement. ‘What are you doing?’
Poppy reddened.
‘What do you think? We’re playing with my dollhouse,’ Noni answered. ‘Kal likes it, even if you don’t.’
Poppy pushed herself up from the floor, and stood.Yet again her disguise was in danger of slipping. She wanted so much to tell Noni that she was a girl, but now was not the right time. ‘I’d better be going, Noni. I want to talk to Joe.’
‘All right, if you must. But remember you were my friend first.’
As Poppy walked out, Joe looked at her strangely. One eyebrow was raised and he was smiling as if he knew something. ‘You mean you like that sort of stuff?’ he sniggered.
‘Nah,’ Poppy said, talking like a boy and swaggering a bit. ‘But what else is there to do around here?’
Joe sneered. ‘Dollhouses?’ Then to her surprise, he said, ‘Do you want to go skip stones down on the dam?’
Poppy wondered if Joe was lonely.
The air at first was tense between them, so Poppy let Joe win at stone skipping even though she was much better at it. Gus had shown her the secret of throwing the stone with her arm held high, not low as Joe was doing. But Joe was very impressed when Poppy told him how to gut and clean an animal before cooking it on a fire. And how to recognise different animal tracks. It was at the story of having a meal with the bushranger Harry Power that she got into trouble again.
Joe jumped up, pointing a finger at her. ‘I knew it! You’re nothing but a little liar. As if a famous bushranger would eat with you, a poor black kid, and then not kill you.’
‘Well, that’s the truth and if you don’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.’ Poppy pretended to look at something behind Joe. ‘Harry Power has the habit of suddenly sneaking up on you.’
Poppy at Summerhill Page 2
